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by Anyones_Ghost



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: 2nd person narrative, Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyones_Ghost/pseuds/Anyones_Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the boiling in your throat, the heat itching your palms and the fluttering of wings, the thousands of butterflies trapped inside you, their touch light and constant, teasing like her hand against your wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

It starts with her being there, her unplanned fallen-from-the-sky appearance, her sudden presence. It’s her with him and the snake that winds its way round your stomach, tightens your gut. It’s her arm in his and yours empty by your side, and the overwhelming sensation of losing something you never really had, a creeping bitterness against the back of your throat.

  It’s the whatifs mounting in a pile you can’t quite call jealousy because there’s an aura around this girl you’ve never experienced before. It’s her dark hair, her fast driving and even faster wit. It’s her smile that starts the avalanche, the subconscious questions tumbling. It’s her, when you’re fighting, dragging you to your feet when you’re down, when you’re close to out.

  It’s her when you’re with him, her shadow fitting easily into the background, her form against walls, around corners. It’s her silent reliance, her consistency through your whatifs becoming iknows and your romance curving full circle, the heat becoming platonic.

  It’s her when you’re broken, when you’re crippled, it’s her hands that guide you, lift you when you have forgotten how to lift yourself, when you’ve forgotten what it is to live. It’s her voice, supporting, reassuring, calling across the waves. It’s her arms breaking through the fog of years, familiar yet changed.

  It’s the boiling in your throat, the heat itching your palms and the fluttering of wings, the thousands of butterflies trapped inside you, their touch light and constant, teasing like her hand against your wrist. There’s the uncertainty, the dropping fear, there’s the looks held a beat too long, the silences that feel too loud, the nights that are just that bit too lonely.

  Now it’s the torturously soft finger down your sternum, and the sudden heat on your throat that’s blinding. It’s the breath in your ear, the sigh of who you are against your lips. It’s the arched back, the tangled fingers. The colour of her skin, caught between pink and pale and morning sky. The curve of her bones beneath her flesh. The light, the way the light echoes and shades and holds her.

  And you’ve never seen her so close before. So close you can see every line, every pore, every speck in her eyes, and even the ugly parts seem beautiful, are beautiful, if there are any ugly parts left. And her skin is soft, so soft you’re almost afraid to touch it in case you mar it with your fingertips, in case you break her. And you don’t know if you can touch her, hold her, but she moves and you move and you can, you can.

  And she’s close; so close you can feel every single one of her bones move lightly under her skin, but she is nowhere near as close as you need her to be. And your hands are on her and she feels like feathers, soft and light like feathers, but firm and human and _there_. And every breath terrifies you because each time you think that it will be your last, and your foolish little heart is kicking, kicking and pounding against your empty ribs, and you can almost see it, almost see it breaking out of your chest.

  And it was only weeks ago when you found how glorious silence is when it is not a lonely one. And it was only weeks ago when her fingers brushed your fingers and you thought you were going to faint but didn’t. And it was only weeks ago you learned how your name really sounds but since then it’s been the only thing echoing through your brain. And it was only weeks ago when you discovered what it is to breathe.

 It was only weeks ago but you know her face; you know her face, the shape of her mouth, her voice by heart; you’ve learnt every mark, every curve, and when you close your eyes she’s there and yes, yes, yes, this is it. This is it. This is everything. And you reach out your hands, hands that have bled and held and carried, you reach out your hands and your fingers touch her skin and this is it, this is it; this is home.


End file.
